


Stories of Thedas, vol. 2

by iwaslikenope



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blushing Alistair (Dragon Age), Canon-Typical Violence, Darkspawn, Desire Demons (Dragon Age), F/M, Graphic Description, Grey Warden Alistair (Dragon Age), Grey Wardens, M/M, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Mage Trevelyan (Dragon Age), Magic, Named Trevelyan (Dragon Age), Prompt Fic, Sweet Alistair (Dragon Age), Templars (Dragon Age), The Blight (Dragon Age), The Chantry (Dragon Age), Trevelyan (Dragon Age) has Sibling(s), Warden Mahariel (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29754063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwaslikenope/pseuds/iwaslikenope
Summary: Campfires, stolen kisses, heartfelt apologies and unforgiven regrets -- these are their stories.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Anders/Male Hawke, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	1. Campfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a collection of oneshots from a prompt fic challenge from Twitter by Talvi and Manuka called "Stories of Thedas, vol. 2" and it's my first time joining! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Feedback is highly encouraged and appreciated!
> 
> P.S. I'm currently replaying the entire series starting with DAO, and it has been a while since I last booted the games, and so I have forgotten a lot about the lore. I am still doing my research, but I cannot recall several of my choices and so forgive me if anything seems off lore-wise! And also don't hesitate in pointing them out!
> 
> #storiesofthedas2

Alistair sat by the fire, knees folded to his chest, the mabari hound curled up next to him. He absentmindedly patted the hound’s head, very gently, eyes on the campfire with his cloak wrapped around him. He sighed, looked up at the clear night sky and wondered when sleep would finally take him over.

Some nights, he would doze off and his companions often had to shake him awake. Some nights he would be wide awake, and he would always sit by the campfire contemplating the future, the present, the past, the food they’ve eaten, the number of darkspawn he killed, or even fuss over not washing his socks for nobody was going to smell them anyway. Sometimes he would merely think about nothing and just admire the crackling of the fire and the hum of the trees. This night was one of those nights, where he can’t think of anything and he could only let his mind wander. He found solace in it sometimes. Other times, it completely unsettled him and he would fall over the rabbit hole of dread and it would take him a while to crawl out of it.

There was a bustle of movement on the tent across from him and he waited, seeing his fellow Warden, Arleea, come out with her arms wrapped around herself. She blinked several times, studying Alistair through the flames, cracks echoing loudly in the night. She squinted in the dark but eventually smiled upon realizing who had been watching her. Alistair grinned.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked as she took up her usual spot across from him and began warming her hands by the fire. Her dark hair flew softly through the breeze, locks nearly covering her face for a while, and in that moment Alistair managed to catch a glimpse of her pointed ears.

“I was asleep,” she muttered. “I had another dream.”

“Did you see them again?” Alistair asked, the grin instantly leaving his face.

Arleea withdrew her hands and crossed her arms, moving a few inches closer to the fire. She smiled and shook her head.

“No,” she answered. “It had nothing to do with darkspawn.” Her eyes lifted, finding him once more. “I saw Tamlen. He was a close friend of mine, back when I was still with my clan. I was reaching out for him. He was about to touch this huge mirror that caused my illness, before Duncan brought me to Ostagar. There was a flash of light soon as Tamlen touched the mirror.” She shuddered. “And then I awoke.”

Alistair said nothing but kept watch. Arleea was looking back and he felt that same tug on his insides whenever their eyes made contact. He recalled the first time he met her — he wasn’t so impressive back then, and it only made it funnier due to the fact that she readily told him about how strange he was for a human. That marked his interest in her and he certainly became more intrigued, for she rarely talked about herself, and when she did, there was always that distant look in her eyes as if she recalled the memories of someone else. It was almost as if she was trying to push these memories in the back of her head to hide the pain which, as a matter of fact, she did badly. Alistair knew because he was equally bad at it too.

“You miss them,” he muttered finally. Arleea turned back to the fire. “I know you do.”

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t,” she said quietly, causing him to stare with one eyebrow raised.

“Why would you say that?”

Arleea straightened up and rubbed at her arms. “So it would be less painful,” she said. “I’ve never been away from my clan. Sometimes I wake up in the morning thinking I hear their voices and I always exit my tent realizing I am no longer with them.” She heaved a sigh, wheeled her head to her right, and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, stifling a hollow chuckle. “I understand that this is not a desirable topic to talk about.”

“You do know I’m all ears if you need them,” Alistair reminded. “You always listen whenever there’s something I need to talk about, even if they’re sometimes pointless. You can tell me anything, you know.”

Arleea beamed and nodded, eyes still shining. Alistair was almost tempted to approach her and wipe away her tears. She always was a force of nature, often refusing to be found weak and broken and vulnerable — and it was always something he admired about her, and gave her his full respect. However, during the rare times she allowed herself a moment of weakness, it clawed, tore at him to the core. He could not look at her whenever she was sad and anguished without feeling the pain himself.

This was one of those rare times.

“What about you?” she asked. “What are you doing here wide awake?”

“Oh, you know,” Alistair said, turning back to the mabari hound. “Sleep has denied me, again. Pluto here has been keeping me company.”

Arleea snorted and watched the hound sleep soundly.

“Yes,” she said. “I can see that.”

“Oh, you can laugh all you want. Your faithful dog is a very good listener and I assure you, he already knows my entire life story in the Chantry. He even knows the names of every brother and sister I pissed off during my time in the Order.”

“Hmm. You must be a legend by now.”

“I take pride in it.”

Arleea laughed, and it made Alistair freeze, enjoying the delightful sound of it. She got up to her feet and dusted the dirt off her trousers.

“I am certain you are,” she teased, turning back to her tent, then paused. She craned over her shoulder to look at him and said, “You’ve always assured me that I can rely on you, Alistair. I am grateful.”

Alistair nodded and smiled. “We’re all we’ve got. I know we have our friends here, but you and I are the only Wardens left, at least here in Ferelden. We have to look out for one another.”

“We do,” Arleea agreed. “I hope this isn’t an odd thing to say, but . . . I wouldn’t have survived this far without you. I will always be glad I met you.”

He was speechless at this. He did not have to say anything, however, for Arleea already returned to her tent bidding him good night. He crawled back to his own tent an hour later but remained awake, listening to the still-crackling flames of the campfire outside.

For the first time, his mind wandered at the thought that maybe there was a possible future with her. There was still the Blight to deal with, of course, but . . . the very thought fueled him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also my first time writing a Dragon Age fic, and I really enjoy it so far! It isn't without its challenges as the characters are extremely diverse, especially in personality, that at times it can be really difficult to write them. I tried (still trying) my best to make sure these characters remain faithful to the source material, and if anything seems off, please do tell me and I will try my best to correct the mistakes. If I happen to find that it doesn't match what I had in mind, please know that I will still take serious note on your critiques as I want to improve my writing.
> 
> **EDIT:** I named my mabari as Pluto since I still have this old stuffed dog I still sleep next to and they share the same name, so I just thought why not? ;)
> 
> Yes, I'm 24 and I still have stuffed toys, don't judge :v


	2. Shiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mild, casual, or explicit gore? I have no idea at all, I'm so sorry :((
> 
> Just, uh, beware of guts.

It has been several minutes — perhaps hours, Garrett did not know; he has already lost track — but they still could not find a way past the collapse, as well as any trace of Sandal. He wiped grime and blood off his face and looked around his companions who were already starting to gasp for breath, the exhaustion visible on their blood-streaked faces. Carver prodded a darkspawn corpse with his foot, examining it closely until Varric announced, “Come on. Let’s get a move on.”

They walked on ahead, Garrett always on the alert. He threw a glance at Anders who was quieter than usual, eyes at an unease, always looking around but finding nothing. Garrett remembered hearing about Wardens sensing darkspawn, and he wondered what could be running in Anders’s mind as he turned here and there. There was that certain paranoia in his eyes that revealed itself soon as they stepped foot outside of camp, and Garrett could not help but feel guilty for asking him to come with them, but he needed his help for the sake of the expedition. Anders had not exactly complained, much to his relief, although Garrett can still sense his discomfort. It goes without saying that the rest of them were starting to feel that same discomfort, now that they were finally seeing the Deep Roads for themselves.

Garrett looted more bodies along the way, Carver picking along from the corpses out of his brother’s reach. They passed tunnels crawling with lyrium veins, fought giant spiders and ignored the haunting  _ drip-drips _ coming from the dark and filthy walls accompanied by silent whispers from centuries past, until at last they reached a wide corridor where they could see an opening that was headed farther into the Deep Roads. It would have been a welcome sight if not for the fallen darkspawn on the ground that lay before them, and Maker, was it gruesome to look at.

One by one they lie bloodied and dismembered; several guts and limbs and something else Garrett did not bother investigating scattered feet from them, and it was hard to tell which foot or hand or head belonged to whom. It was disturbing, yes, but Garrett soon found this was the least of his worries. His eyes rose to the one source of light in the corridor and he would have suspected a demon’s involvement in his vision if Varric did not disrupt the eerie silence.

“Well, I’ll be a nug’s uncle,” he was muttering. “Isn’t that Bodahn’s boy?”

Feet from them was Sandal himself, scratching his backside, his back turned on the party and the sea of bodies. He was standing before an ogre whose arms were stretched out from behind its shoulders with its mouth wide open, supposedly in the middle of roaring at its enemies but had been magically frozen from head to toe. Sandal was looking at it as he would a curious, less horrifying specimen, still in the process of ridding himself of the itch from his backside while standing idly by. He turned when Varric spoke, that same smile imprinted on his innocent face which had been smeared with blood.

“Hello,” he said.

The four of them approached, slowly and carefully, all examining the corpses around them. Varric and Garrett halted before Sandal. Carver suddenly chuckled.

“It is!” he exclaimed. “The great warrior stands victorious.”

Varric and Garrett exchanged looks. Garrett eyed the frozen ogre again. He hated to admit it, but the sight was rather fascinating to look at, albeit terrifying. He half expected the thing to move and grab Sandal with its monstrous hands, but it remained still where it stood — a gleaming statue, now simply a frozen threat.

Garrett shook his head, unsure where to place his confusion. He said, “I’d really like to know how you managed to kill all of them.” He knelt before Sandal who reached a hand out to him, grasping something in his palm. Garrett took it and studied the object — it was a rune, small and silver.

_ “Boom!” _ Sandal said dramatically and excitedly as if it explained everything, hands lifting and waving as if scaling out the size of an unseen explosion.

Garrett frowned. “And how did you do  _ that _ ?” He nodded towards the frozen ogre. Sandal followed his gaze.

He then shook his head, grinning from ear to ear.

“Not enchantment!” he replied. He turned away then, and walked back the way the other four came from. Garrett gazed after him even as he was already out of sight, still hardly believing what happened.

“Smart boy,” Varric said simply. They turned again to the frozen ogre which shone impressively in the dark tunnels, roaring over exploded darkspawn guts.

“Maker preserve me,” Garrett whispered to himself. They resumed walking ahead, back to searching for a way past the collapsed walls, but not without throwing a final glance at the corridor. Perhaps Bodahn will provide answers upon their return, perhaps not. Garrett could only hope. For now — there was a job to be done. Silently he wished he took Sandal along so that he could help them get rid of more darkspawn waiting for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure anymore if they're lyrium veins that you see around the Deep Roads, the shiny blue stuff? I can't remember lmao someone h e l p m e
> 
> Also, I have taken some scenes from the games and modified them a bit to fit the setting of each entry, I hope that's all right. This scene in particular from DA2 was fun to write! It's hilarious watching my Hawke and the gang with their reactions and Sandal is just -- how does he do _that_??


	3. Seducer

“Isn’t this wonderful, husband? Isn’t our life perfect?”

The Templar’s wife smiled at his side and leaned her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes, a hand on his chest, and the Templar breathed her in. He smiled, caressed her cheek and wrapped both his arms protectively around her.

“Yes,” he mumbled. “It is all perfect.”

They stood there for some minutes in their embrace, just having finished supper. The children have already climbed upstairs to their rooms, although he could still hear their giggling and teasing.

“Everything is just as you wanted, my knight,” said the Templar’s wife. “Our love and our family are more than you hoped for.” She looked up at him, blue eyes bright and hopeful and lovely, a prayer most wonderfully answered.

‘Tis all perfect indeed.

It has been years since he quit the Order and chose his family. It has been a difficult decision, for all his life he dreamt of becoming a Templar, to make his parents proud, and to make something of himself, to prove people  _ something _ . He trained, fought and gained the rank and respect he needed, but at the price of his happiness — he had to sacrifice everything to become a part of the Order, after all. He also had to sacrifice the happiness of the woman he loved most. He thought he needed no one in his life, but once she passed and life at the Circle became much more difficult than he anticipated, he began to question everything: the true purpose of the Order, the true purpose of the Chantry, the purpose of the Kingdom, the purpose of all life and its Maker, and most especially the purpose of his own being.

Must all rely on the glory of rank and connection, the want of attention and duty to the blade? Must all depend upon others’ expectations to find comfort and contentment? Must all be tied to the words of the outsiders who only concern themselves with the security of their own happiness and not of others? Why can’t one be left to his own devices, let him walk his path to the future of his choosing? Why can’t anyone find true success in the plain and the simple, where no one and nothing will hurt them?

The Templar’s wife straightened up all of a sudden and glanced around. The Templar glanced around as well, then looked back down to her.

“Do you hear something, love?” he asked her, carefully withdrawing from their embrace and turning to the corridor across where the front door was, where his wife seemed to be looking.

The wife shook her head.

“It is nothing, my darling. Just the door.” She began to take a few steps back and made for the living room. “I will get it. Tuck the children into bed while I see who it is.”

The Templar smiled and said, “Don’t be long. The children will want to kiss you good night.”

“I will be but a moment, my pet.” She then disappeared to the front door, muttering something while the Templar climbed the stairs and entered the children’s bedroom. The lamp was still alight but his son and daughter were already fast asleep, tucked comfortably underneath their blankets. The ghost of a smile was imprinted upon their faces. No troubles, no pain. Just peace.

A scream rang downstairs, pulling the Templar from his train of thought. He exited the bedroom and returned to the kitchen, crossing the corridor to the front door. His blood ran cold.

There, by the door, were four figures and they loomed before his wife who was starting to back away. She turned, found her husband then ran towards him, slipping behind him, both hands grasping his shoulder. She was crying.

“T-They’re going to m-murder the children!” she sobbed. “You must stop them!”

The Templar looked around and found his sword leaning against the wall beside him. He did not know why it was there and cannot remember who placed it in that spot, but he grabbed it anyway and faced the bandits. He studied them, noticing the one at the front was rather short and skinny, both hands holding long daggers. He noted the pointed ears sticking out from her short curtain of dark hair and the swirling tattoos on her face — she was an elf. Behind her was a man carrying a sword and a shield, and two women on either side of him carried staves, the one to the left rather old and frail, and the other one young and harsh. They looked rather odd to be bandits, but he held his stance anyway, sword raised and his free hand shielding his crying wife.

“They will not get past me,” he said through gritted teeth. He charged at the bandits who, for some reason, were telling him to stop. There was the clang of steel and the exchanging of wounds. The next moment he knew, he was freefalling into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if every human is familiar with the vallaslin, and so I just assumed that maybe Mr. Templar doesn't know what the elven tattoos are called? Please let me know and I'll change it right away, thank you!
> 
> I don't also recall if they have been mentioned in the games, sorry about that! Hope y'all enjoyed this nonetheless!


	4. Magic

Apollo ran inside and shut the door of his bedroom. He locked it and sat on his large bed, glancing nervously at the door. He was still quivering. He looked down at his hands, sweat dripping down his forehead.

He waited for a moment, steadied his breathing and geared his energy towards his hands. Red sparks came out of his fingertips. He froze, heart beating even faster. He repressed a whimper although it came out of his lips anyway.

_This can’t be,_ he thought. _This can’t happen._

Loud knocks made him jump where he sat, head snapping in the door’s direction. He remained rigid as the knocks increased. Then a soft voice spoke.

“It’s me!” a girl was calling out. “I saw you running through the garden!”

Apollo took a deep, relieved breath. He bit his lip, strode away from the bed and approached the door, opening it slowly, revealing his twin sister Clotilde looking at him with concern.

“What happened?” she asked. She tucked in a lock of red hair behind her ear, frowning. “Igor was asking why you ran away from him. Adda’s been arguing with him.”

“Get in,” Apollo said through gritted teeth, pulling her inside and shutting the door again. He led her to the far end of the room and said, voice barely above a whisper, “I have it. I-I have magic.”

Clotilde stared, eyes widening. “What?”

_“Magic!”_ Apollo hissed, still in hushed tones. “I have magic!” He wrung his hands, heart still protesting in his ribcage. It beat so wildly he felt as if he was going to throw up and faint. “Igor had been teasing me about how I was terrible with swords, and you know Igor, he doesn’t even know the difference between a joke and an insult, and h-he wouldn’t stop — it annoyed me so much and then I felt it,” he went on, gulping. “Sparks. I looked down at my hands and a few of them came out of my fingers. I had to run away before I attacked him with it.”

“Did Igor see?”

“No,” Apollo said. “H-His back was turned, he was picking up the wooden swords from the training ground when I fled and ran back here.”

Clotilde was now looking at him, and her expression was hard to read.

“Are you going to tell Mother and Father?” Apollo asked.

She shook her head, still scrutinizing him closely, worsening the pounding in his chest.

“Clotilde?” he said. “Are you going to tell them?”

“Can I see?” Clotilde asked.

“I — what?”

“I need to see,” his sister said firmly. “I need to make sure.”

Apollo hesitated. He glowered at her for seconds before he made up his mind. He took yet another deep breath and tried to flick his wrists, stretching out his fingers. Out they came again — the red sparks. Despite the fear building up within him, he could not help but notice how beautiful they looked. He eyed his sister who watched quietly, furrowed brows somehow relaxing. He then stopped and lowered his hands, leaving a profound silence.

“What should I do?” he asked again after a while.

Clotilde bit her lip in the exact same way he always did — as if she was chewing and her brows twitching, blinking several times, deep in thought.

“I have it too,” she mumbled. “I also have magic.”

Apollo’s jaw dropped. “You do?”

Clotilde raised her hands and twirled her fingers, drawing invisible spirals right before him. Blue sparks trailed off where her hand went and froze for a few seconds before they melted, leaving drops of water on the carpeted floor. She lowered her hands, gazing down at the smudged spots of the carpet.

“We’re both mages,” she said. Apollo shook his head in disbelief.

“Since when did you know?” he asked.

“About a week ago. I was having a nightmare and I woke up with these sparks. My fingertips had bits of ice on them, even. I can’t remember the dream, but I was so scared, and whatever it was I somehow warded it off with magic. . . .” Her voice faltered. “They are going to send us to the Circle as soon as they learn about this.”

“Why did you not tell me right away?”

“I was also scared. I am still scared. I can’t even tell Adda.”

Apollo rubbed his hands on his face. He hated admitting it, but he was so close to crying. He did not want to cry, not even in front of his twin sister who was always and forever understanding. The Trevelyan men were trained not to show any hint of weakness in front of anyone, not even their closest family members, not their sisters and cousins and children and spouses. They were not allowed to cry. Sometimes even the women were told not to cry. The Trevelyans are proud, powerful, and weakness was not an option. Especially with Apollo who was now being groomed and slowly being trained to become a Templar like his older sister Adda and cousin Igor.

But what was he and Clotilde to do? They don’t want to go to the Circle; no one wants to go to the Circle. The Circle has no mercy. The Templars have free reign even though the Chantry shows otherwise before the public. If you are a mage, then you must be treated as such, no matter who or what or how old you are, and Apollo and his sister were only seven. No one must know — but for how long are they going to be able to keep it in?

Apollo took a deep breath. _You can’t cry,_ he kept telling himself. _You’re a man. You mustn’t cry. You’re not allowed to cry._

“We can’t tell them,” he muttered. “Father is going to be furious and ashamed. Mother will be heartbroken.”

“They will learn of it eventually,” Clotilde said. “And no matter what happens, they are going to throw us into the Circle. Our family is tied to the Chantry and they have the family name to protect.”

Apollo slumped on an armchair next to the shelf of books to his right.

“Then what should we do now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love how joining this gives me the opportunity to flesh out my characters more. I honestly barely know anything about Apollo even if I played Inquisition, and the more I write about him, the more I get to know him. If you're reading this, thank you, Manuka and Talvi! <3
> 
> P.S. Clotilde is my first Inquisitor and Apollo is my second, although the latter is my canon because I really enjoy Dorian's romance and I've always wanted to play DAI as a male mage. I just couldn't get him right in the customization so I made a female mage instead lmao
> 
> P.P.S. Adda and Igor are my other Inkys for future playthroughs, and I can't wait for the chance to play as them! <3


	5. Date

“What happened next?” Dorian asked. “Did you immediately tell your parents?”

“No,” Apollo answered, still looking up at the stars. His elbows were leaning against the battlements, hands clasped together. A guard passed by, greeting him, and he nodded in return. “We managed to keep it secret for a few weeks, until Igor drove me to the edge. We were training, and his insults went too far . . .” He frowned at the memory. “Nearly burned him on the spot. All this pressure to do better and live up to the family name drove me mad.”

Dorian looked at him for moments. Apollo glanced his way and grinned.

“Dreadful, I know,” he said.

“Quite so,” Dorian replied with a forced smile. “Reminds me somehow of home. With the family reputation to keep and all that. So what happened to you and your twin sister?”

“Must we really talk about this? I thought you wanted to have a good time?”

“I want to know more about you,” Dorian said. “I hear snippets from our dear ambassador and I would’ve asked you right away if you had the time. This is the perfect opportunity now, so pray tell.”

Apollo fidgeted and forced a laugh which Dorian found simply adorable. He waited as the other took a moment to share the rest of his story to him.

“Well,” Apollo began slowly. “Mother howled like there was no tomorrow and Father reacted as I predicted — except for the part where he was utterly speechless. He had Clotilde and I dragged to the Circle the very next day, and when Adda took her vows she was forced to treat us like we were not family at all; even Igor who somehow changed. He became more sympathetic towards us. There were times they had to meet us in secret, but those times were so rare. They were closely watched. There were rumors that Mother planned to bribe the Senior Enchanter to let us visit home whenever she pleased, but it did not happen, so I suspect Father had something to do with it.” He finished with a sigh. “We’re quite an exciting lot, you could say.”

Dorian’s face fell as he finished. It hit him with pity and he could not help but only stare back at Apollo who looked away again and watched the stars for the second time.

“How is your family doing now?”

“Father has not been contacting me. Mother, Adda and Clotilde are showering me with letters, and there’s an occasional message from Igor. Adda and Igor are training recruits and Clotilde is undertaking preparations to become a mentor to apprentices now.” Apollo suddenly chuckled. “If you’ve been talking to Josephine, you must hear about distant members of our family causing quite a ruckus.”

“So I’ve heard,” Dorian said. “One of your distant cousins is demanding the Inquisition to fight his rival.”

“I don’t even know who he is, I never met him,” Apollo chortled. “Funny how we’re as good as disowned when everybody else learned my sister and I are mages.”

Dorian shook his head in disbelief, recalling memories of his own. The two of them were so different and yet so similar in a certain way he could not explain. He found himself reaching out and taking the Inquisitor’s hand to his own. Apollo turned to him in surprise, a small smile crossing his wonderful features.

“I am dreadfully cold,” Dorian muttered. “I still don’t understand how anyone can handle this horrible climate. Are you not cold?”

Apollo laughed, shaking his head. “Not so much. Would you like to return to your lovely armchair in the library now?”

Dorian scoffed. “I would, but you seem to enjoy it here.”

“Anything to savor the quiet,” Apollo said. “And there are no prying eyes. I’ve people knocking on my door all the time, so it’s not entirely peaceful. Thought you might enjoy the silence up here as well, with just the two of us here.”

Dorian rolled his eyes but returned the smile anyway.

“I would rather be somewhere more romantic, but this will do,” he teased. “But I’m starting to like it here, and I am beginning to understand why you spend so much time up here . . .” He gazed down at the tavern below them. “It somewhat makes you meditative . . .”

None of them spoke for a long while, both of them listening to the faint music and laughter from the tavern, where light pooled from the windows and soldiers entered to retire for the night. Crickets could be heard, as well as the harmonious rustle of the trees. The moon shone on all of Skyhold and brought about a certain peace that Dorian began to admire. Truly, he can now see why Apollo frequented this spot. It was as if they were watching the whole world sleep from a safe distance.

“Thank you for telling me,” Dorian finally began. He squeezed Apollo’s hand.

“No,” the Inquisitor said. “I’m the one who should thank you, for coming to meet me here. I’ve been wanting to spend more time with you and I had to take this opportunity. I know we do not spend as much time together anymore, and even if we do, it’s during our missions. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m forgetting about my promise to spend more time with you.”

“Apollo, you are the Inquisitor. You have your duties. And I do still enjoy those times outside with you.”

“Even if you complain about the heat, the cold, the rain and the stink every time we are out there?”

Dorian laughed. “Yes. Even if I complain about everything all the time. It would not be me if I do not find something to nitpick on every trip.”

Apollo shook his head, grinning. “Perish the thought.” He then stared back at him squarely, and seriously. “Listen. I know it has been hard on all of us, but I want you to know that I’m happy with you, and I’m thankful we met despite the circumstances. It has not been easy on all fronts, but . . . I will never trade what we have for anything. Even with all this chaos, this madness. I want you to know that, before . . . before . . .”

Dorian tugged at his hand and hissed, “Don’t. Don’t say that, nothing of that. We can’t think of the future. What matters is now.”

“I know that, but —”

He held Apollo’s lips with his finger. “If you’re going to say something, just get to the point. I don’t ever want to hear about losing you.”

Apollo paused. Dorian caught him by surprise again. To be fair, he was quite surprised with himself too.

“The future may be dark, may be bright, but we still have _now_. I can’t think about a future without you, that’s all I know.”

Apollo’s eyes softened. The vague smile was there, and Dorian now found he can easily read through his eyes.

“I love you,” Apollo finally said. “Dorian, I love you. You matter to me more than you know and I will do anything to keep you from harm.” He took a deep breath and held his face. “I’ll always look forward to a future with you in it.”

Dorian shut his eyes, lowered his head and grasped Apollo’s hands on his face, tracing his fingers. He stifled a chuckle.

“I hate it when you make me tearful,” he said.

“I thought you told me to get to the point?”

“I did, yes,” Dorian chortled. He straightened up and immediately pressed his lips against Apollo’s without further notice. There was a gasp but the other eventually leaned in and returned the kiss, and Dorian grasped his shoulders, his arms, his waist, then his face, wanting to feel every inch of him to make sure he won’t go away and fade into the distance, to make sure he was not dreaming this. They slowly withdrew from one another, pressing their foreheads together.

Dorian opened his eyes.

“You have no idea how much I love you too, _amatus_.”


	6. Chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit violence and gore ahead!

The daggers slipped from her hands and fell to the ground, clangs hardly heard over the screams and roars and cries. Arleea bent to pick up her weapons but found herself sinking to her knees, gasping and coughing, hands splayed on the ground next to her daggers. She looked up and saw nothing but darkspawn and the flames devouring Denerim. She wiped her face with the back of her gloved hand, the blood shimmering by the light of the flames — she did not even know whose blood it was anymore, and just how much had gotten to her face. With great effort, she picked up her daggers and pushed herself up on her feet, evading a charging genlock and turning; she aimed a kick at the back of its knees and stabbed it through one of its ears, the end of the blade sticking out through the other ear, and she heard the slicing and crushing of tissue from within the genlock’s head. She dislodged the weapon from it, watched the genlock fall lifeless at her feet and looked around to locate her companions amidst the sea of death and evil.

They were nowhere to be found. A few of the elven allies were around her and they too were calling out for their comrades spread out across the battle. Arleea turned left and right and front and back, seeking out any sign of her companions, her mabari hound, and Alistair — oh,  _ Alistair  _ — 

_ “Where are they?” _ she called desperately to the Dalish elves with her. “Have you seen them? Shale? Wynne? Alistair? My hound? Have you seen them?”

“N-No,” one of them answered. There was a yelp from behind the group — an alpha hurlock raced towards them and butted a number of them to the ground. There was a blood-curdling scream; the hurlock swung its ax and managed to chop off one of the elves’ thighs, and he cried, writhing hopelessly on the ground.

“Aargh! M-My leg —  _ MY LEG!” _

“No!” Arleea pushed her way towards the hurlock and attacked — she ducked and evaded a blow, piercing her daggers on the alpha hurlock’s side. She elbowed its head and crushed it fiercely with her boot several times. The other elves hurled their bleeding kin away from the battle while a few remained to assist Arleea and kill off more genlocks.

Arleea was in a state of panic now. They were being flooded with darkspawn and she could not see her friends. She fought and fought, trying to push the morbid thoughts running in her head.

If something happened to them — if she cannot find them — 

_ They’re all right, _ Arleea told herself.  _ They’re all right. They have to be all right. _

She found herself stopping, and watched as her Dalish comrades were slaughtered before her. She continued to fight and there were only a few of them left. Arleea thought she caught a glimpse of Wynne’s magic somewhere — and was that Alistair’s shield? Was the bark nearby coming from Pluto? Is the big figure looming behind them Shale, or is that another ogre? Arleea was driven by a mad desire to know.

She  _ must _ know.

She drew in a breath and readied herself.

_ “ALISTAIR!” _ Arleea screeched at the top of her voice. Tears were already streaming from her eyes. “Wynne — Shale — I’m here! I’m here!”

One of the figures turned.

“Arleea!”

There he was. Yelling, fighting his way towards her. Behind him were Shale, Wynne, and Pluto, all of them attacking stragglers, and the other half of their elven allies fighting alongside them. Arleea did not know or even care how she got separated from them; all that mattered was they were still alive and were all fighting through the horde to make it to her. Arleea rallied her remaining companions and they began to slash and stab darkspawn with renewed hope and energy and with wild eyes, her only goal in mind was to reunite with her friends. She had to get there, and she  _ will  _ get there and nothing was going to stop her — 

“Alistair!” she called again. She ducked, stabbed, slashed, and clawed until she finally threw the last darkspawn in the way, blood flying in the air, and flung her arms around Alistair who returned her embrace, trapping her in despite the blood, sweat, and tears.

“I thought I lost you,” she sobbed. “Alistair, I thought I lost you —”

“I’m here now,” he whispered. “I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

Arleea repeatedly muttered his name and he tried to soothe her with endless whispers saying that he loved her, and loved her, and loved her ever so truly. Both of them were shaking and when they broke apart, they held each other’s faces for a few more seconds before resuming the fight, now standing with the rest of their brothers and sisters at arms.

Only they could end this chaos, and they have to end it  _ now. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I wanna say is I had goosebumps all the time while writing and editing this. I feel like there's so much energy in this one.


	7. Shirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rather short, but I just want me some Pavelyan fluff
> 
> Also skipped over the actual 7th prompt because I really can't think of anything, sorry :((

Apollo awoke to the chilly morning, sitting up on the bed and gazing at the bare-skinned figure next to him who pulled the blanket over his head. Apollo smiled softly, lifted the sheets for a bit, and placed a kiss on top of Dorian’s head. He then swung his long legs off the bed and put on his trousers and boots when he heard a grunt.

“You’re just going to leave me here?” Dorian said groggily. He had already turned, his entire body wrapped in blankets and his dark hair falling over his eyes. Apollo smirked, standing there half-naked and admiring Dorian’s bedhead appearance.

“I’d rather spend the whole day with you, love, but you know the drill.” Apollo reached towards the couch where he had tossed his shirt. He shrugged it on. There was a snort.

“Well, that was much too soon,” Dorian said. “I was still admiring the view.”

“We can continue with each other’s . . . _views_ tonight.” Apollo approached him and kissed him. “We don’t want Cullen and the others barging in on us and disrupting our little ‘viewing session.’ I’ll see you later.”

“Do try having as little fun there without me,” Dorian called out as Apollo made his way to the door.

“Trust me, love, I’m already miserable without you around. I’ll drop by in the library in the afternoon, that’s a promise.”


	8. Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild swearing and a very tiny mention of NSFW

_“So life in the Wilds must have been very lonely.”_

_~~~_

Morrigan sat by the pond, twirling her fingers on the water, picturing little stars on it. She made circular motions and sparks emanated from the tips of her fingers. She giggled, looked around but found no one. She sighed.

_Sometimes I wish I had someone to play with._

She looked up at the little hut across from her. Mother had not yet emerged, nor did the nameless man she brought along with her an hour ago, and she feared entering the hut whenever someone else was there. Mother did not like it either whenever her daughter barged in and found her sprawled on top of men who weren’t her father — if she ever had a father. Mother’s fury scared her sometimes. She knew she needed to realize her mistake, but it was terrifying nonetheless.

Morrigan sighed and started humming to herself. She lied back on the grass, watched the gloomy afternoon sky, and listened to the caws of crows some yards away. She wondered what else she could do today.

_Sometimes I wish I had friends._

The chores were already done. Today was a day off from Mother’s lessons. Game has been hunted for tonight’s supper. There was nothing else to do. Mother did not allow Morrigan in the hut until she was finished, and the only way for her to know if she was finished was for her to come out of the hut and signal her daughter to enter. She can’t just knock on the door and ask.

Morrigan sat up and looked around the trees. She heard a howl overhead. She quickly scrambled up to her feet. And then she saw it.

A wolf pack passing through the trees.

Morrigan glanced back to the hut, a sense of urgency calling to her all of a sudden. Mother was not coming out. Even if she did, there won’t be much to do. It won’t take her daughter long to return. She just wanted to see where the wolves were headed.

_I want to run with the wolves._

Morrigan made up her mind. She had to do it. Just for half an hour, or another at most. Then she will be back.

_Run and be free._

Morrigan closed her eyes, centering her focus. She inhaled, exhaled, and inhaled again. She could feel the magic coursing through her veins. She pictured a wolf, recalled Mother’s words — “Study its mannerisms, its movements. What sets it apart from other animals?”

And then she muttered the spell.

The transformation was slow; rather painful. Morrigan found herself lying on the grass, her head spinning. Her vision was blurred and hazy for some seconds before it began to clear.

Everything felt . . . _different_. Everything still looked the same although it immediately felt foreign to her. She was a little shorter, but she also felt stronger. Her senses and her mind were much more alert. She turned to face the pond and examined her reflection. She yelped.

Gray fur, a long snout, tall pointy ears, and yellow eyes — she was as exactly she had pictured before the transformation. She examined her little paws and grunted in pride. She may not be able to smile in this state, but she could most certainly feel it.

_Mother taught me well. I know that now._

There was another howl. Morrigan’s head shot up to where she could hear the noise. She began to wound her way through the tall grass, running towards the woods. Birds squawked at the sight of her from the branches. Some of them flew away, some of them remained still where they sat. She could sense the insects crawling on the earth around her, and could hear flies buzzing overhead. She can also smell the dampness all over the woods. She sniffed and traced paw prints wherever visible and soon came into a clearing. Birds chirped in the distance. A short breeze flew into her fur. She looked up ahead.

The pack had stopped right in the middle of the clearing. They gathered in a circle, trapping in a seemingly old wolf, and all were lost in their silent vigil. He turned when Morrigan neared. The rest of the pack turned too.

Morrigan realized just how small she was. The members of the pack were half the height of men, and they were wide, their big yellow eyes studying the newcomer. Morrigan immediately stopped, locking eyes with the elderly leader. She sat where she stood, watching nervously.

_They know._

_Do they?_

The pack all got up as one, and without throwing her another look, they ran away and entered another cluster of trees up ahead.

Morrigan almost cried “Wait!” until she realized she could only let out a small howl. She frantically got up on her four feet and went after the pack.

The wind whistled past her ears. She could sense the adrenaline as she sprinted ahead, crushing twig after twig, hitting branch after branch until she reached the pack and they all entered a swamp. They had stopped, and all of them were facing a small group of humans whose bows were at the ready. The rest of the wolves stood before the leader, teeth bared. A low growl reverberated among the pack.

“There’s a lot of them, Kit,” one of the men said. “We should just leave them.”

“Sweet Maker, are you daft? Imagine the price we’ll get for the pelt!”

“Loony’s right, Kit,” another said. “Leave ‘em be.”

“We could have the small one over there,” Kit pointed to Morrigan. “We could train it.”

A collective rumbling from the pack hushed them. The leader of the pack stepped in front of Morrigan and growled, causing her to stare.

“We could just hunt game somewhere else, Kit,” Loony snarled, and the rest of the group seconded his motion. “There’s too many of ‘em. The Wilds have plenty more meat to offer.”

Kit swore under his breath.

“I _want_ that little one,” he hissed. “For all we know it might not be useful to them.” He took a step forward; the wolves barked and growled and lunged at him, causing him to back away. Kit spat.

“Fucking wolves,” he grunted. He glared at them and retreated.

“Move it!” he hissed at his companions. “You lot are a bloody bunch of cowards.”

The pack was still on their guard as Kit and his group walked away and turned a corner, vanishing from sight.

The elderly wolf leader relaxed after some minutes. His brethren approached and watched Morrigan who quivered before the leader.

How does a wolf show gratitude? Morrigan did not know. She looked up at the pack leader who looked down at her with a twinkle in his eyes.

_Go home, child._

_It’s for your safety._

The other wolves sniffed at her, then howled. Morrigan, still frozen in fear, only nodded, hoping it would suffice. The pack leader bowed at her and moved away. The others followed him and for one last time ran away from her, crossing the swamp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to leave this prompt blank but when I went on an interview spree with my DAO companions this idea popped into my head. Just a little something with a younger Morrigan years before the Warden and other recruits walked in the Korcari Wilds. Thought this was interesting to see and this is honestly one of my top two faves from the entire series of prompts! (Of course I love everything I’ve written but there was a certain freedom in here that I really like! <3)
> 
> I don’t know how and when Morrigan became a shapechanger, and I know it may be too advanced for her, but I made her learn the spell at 10 years old, for the sake of this oneshot. Please don’t burn me ;-;


	9. Hot Beverage

That was it. That was enough. Apollo had been reading and writing reports for most of the morning and his eyes were beginning to feel tired. He got up from his desk, stretched his stiff limbs, and approached the balcony, enjoying the breeze. He watched the bustle below from where he stood. He frowned.

Were those new arrivals another set of nobles? He had to squint his eyes for a better look — fancy clothes, that air of importance, and the calculated movements — they were nobles indeed. Apollo sighed exasperatedly and almost slumped against the balcony.

He will have to be ready. He will be needed again soon.

There was a loud knock from his door. Apollo stepped a few paces away from the balcony and bid his visitor to enter.

Blackwall — no, Thom Rainier — shuffled past in the room carrying quite an armful of sealed letters and a mug of something steaming in his other hand.

“Chocolate,” he said and set the letters down on the desk already flooded with unrolled parchments. “Ambassador Montilyet has handed me these to be given to you while she deals with the nobles who just arrived.”

Apollo sighed. “I did see them come in, yes.” He stared at Thom who handed him the mug. “Is there . . . something you need?”

Thom straightened up and looked about the room, the hesitation clear in his eyes. He placed his hands behind him and answered, “I was passing by to have a look at the new arrivals when Josephine saw me. I offered my help, and . . . I thought you might be buried with paperwork, so I went to the kitchens to get you something to drink.” He looked up at him. “I haven’t had the chance to tell you properly how grateful I am to you, Inquisitor. For this.”

Apollo studied him for a moment, warming his hands around the mug. Thom was still staring although he eventually surrendered and bowed, about to quit the room when Apollo said, “I am only doing what I think is right.”

Thom turned, one foot on the steps leading back to the door, a hand on the banister.

“I still see you as a friend,” Apollo added. “I know you hid the truth from me, from everyone else, but your actions, ever since you joined the Inquisition, have been nothing but sincere. You deserve another chance.”

“And I swear to give my life for the Inquisition,” Thom said. “But it will never remove the fact that I killed people for my greed.”

“I know,” Apollo said. He took a sip of the hot chocolate. The strong flavor exploded and brought back some of the lost energy wasted from dealing with endless reports. His eyes fell on the fireplace, thoughtful. “But I can’t deny anyone another chance if they are truly dedicated in repenting and righting their wrongs. I’m only human. I’ve killed relentlessly myself. I have my wrongs, and I still have things to atone for.”

“But what you do is —”

“— for the greater good, yes.” Apollo glowered at the phrase. He always hated that phrase, and having uttered it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Despite their cause, despite anyone’s cause, it never made sense to him as he’s already heard of it for so many times, that he began to think of it merely as an excuse. “Killing does not make me any better. It is necessary but that does not mean I have to like it, whether or not it is for the greater good. I am not the Maker, Thom. I don’t want to keep deciding who lives and dies.”

Thom stood there speechless.

“You are my friend, Thom,” Apollo reminded. “I just hope that you do not waste this chance. You still have plenty of work to do.”

Thom gave him a firm and resolute nod.

“Thank you, Inquisitor. I will do my best.”

Apollo smiled warmly. He lifted the drink an inch and said, “Oh, and thank you for this. This’ll help me survive these reports.”


	10. Kiss

“Do you really have to go?”

Garrett turned away from the pack and faced Anders who fidgeted in the doorway. There was a frown and Anders understood it — _We’ve already talked about this._

“Varric needs my help,” Garrett argued. “The Inquisition needs my help.”

Anders bit his lip and turned away, unable to speak. He could not stop his mind from wandering through the depths. He had to stop Garrett from going, before it was too late.

“I’ve a bad feeling about this,” he finally said. “Hawke — _Garrett_ ,” he corrected himself. “I don’t want you to go.”

Garrett’s eyes softened. He released the pack, strode away from the bed to his direction and grasped his shoulders.

“Just let me do this one last time,” he whispered. “And then we will move again and forget all this. The world is still in danger, and if it helps bring down Corypheus at last, then I need to go and make that happen. I’m not only doing this for the world.” His hands found Anders’s cheeks. “I’m doing this for you. For us.”

Anders closed his eyes and gave in to his touch. He held Garrett’s hands which were still holding his face.

They have been through too much, all because of him, and yet, Garrett was still ready to sacrifice a lot for his sake. He did not deserve this, his forgiveness and his love, but he wanted to be selfish again and lock Garrett up somewhere the Inquisition would not reach. He trusted him with all his heart but he did not trust the Inquisitor enough to guarantee Garrett’s safety.

He could not help but feel that this might be the last time he holds him, and it haunted him.

What was he to do if Garrett does not — 

_No,_ he thought furiously before his mind got anywhere. _Don’t. Just don’t._

“I need to go,” Garrett began, breaking his silence. He pulled away just as Anders opened his eyes and felt as if something was falling. Garrett picked up his pack, went back to Anders and kissed him full on the mouth, leaving him breathless. He let go slowly, brushed his fingers on Anders’s lips, whispering, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Anders said. “Please, you don’t have to go.”

“I will return. I promise.” Garrett made for the front door, opened it and paused. He turned one last time to Anders and smiled. He finally exited the hut, leaving behind an unbearable silence.


	11. Exploration

_From the journal of Arleea Mahariel  
_ _Recovered by Alistair Theirin_

I am not sure what I am expecting anymore. We’ve just returned from the Korcari Wilds to retrieve three vials of darkspawn blood and old Grey Warden treaties. The vials are, Duncan said, required to complete the Joining. I keep wrapping my head around what we could possibly do with the darkspawn blood, but nothing is coming to mind. It is not as if we are going to drink it, right? So why are the Grey Wardens so secretive about it? I wonder.

You may also wonder what it was we had to do in the Korcari Wilds. First off, Warden Alistair joined us to guide us along the way, and we have not been long in the Wilds when we met this soldier who was fatally injured and was bleeding on the ground. I’ve seen my share of blood, but what I saw did not prepare me still. This soldier claimed he and his troops have been attacked by darkspawn, and it only worsened my anxiety. Ser Jory has expressed his concern as well as I, but Daveth was rather casual about it. Alistair said we need not worry for Wardens like him can sense darkspawn, so we should be safe from big groups. Fortunately we only encountered stragglers, although the sight of them still terrified me. I will never get used to seeing darkspawn.

It was not only darkspawn we met along the way. Soon as we reached a ruin which was once used by the Wardens (and where the treaties were hidden), there was this rather odd human apostate called Morrigan. My companions called her a ‘Witch of the Wilds’ and Morrigan only mocked them for their ignorance. I did not know what to believe, and so I held my tongue till she addressed me and said that her mother retrieved the treaties. I did not believe her at first. It was too convenient, as Alistair said, and with what had happened to us in the Wilds so far, it was hard to take her words into account. However, since the treaties were nowhere to be found, we were left with no choice but to follow Morrigan as she offered to take us to her mother.

Turns out she was telling the truth. Her mother, despite her similar oddness, did retrieve the treaties and even took care of them. The seals have worn off, but other than that, they were still in good condition — except of course age was already clinging to them. We returned to camp with them and the vials, and now as I sit here and eat the last of my supper (there was still half an hour left before the Joining), did I fully grasp what just happened hours ago. It was all too surreal, for lack of a better word. My clan has traveled far and wide, and yet I have never encountered such oddities. I’m not quite sure how I feel about it. I’m still homesick and the more I wait for the Joining, the more I feel the fear of what is to come.

I need to go. Alistair’s told us to quickly finish supper. I’ll write back to you soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive the use of first/second person! This is how I actually write in my journals — I directly address them as if we’re having a conversation and I didn’t realize I wrote this entry this way till I finished it lol! My words ain’t as formal though lmao. My journal entries are filled to the brim with swearing whoops


End file.
